Alphabet Soup
by Weavillain
Summary: Twenty-six letters of the alphabet, twenty-six chapters with each of them starting with a different letter; a collection of drabbles featuring the pairing of Clyde McBride and Lynn Loud Jr. Will mostly be fluffy friendship and romance, though other themes might be explored every now and then. Most of the chapters will be K to K-plus, with a few of them going up to a T-rating.
1. A is for Autumn

**A/N:** Not too long ago (as in a few days), I made a two-shot about Lynn and Clyde that earned a few comments requesting that I continue the story. Well, I have bad news for those people—it's not gonna happen. I feel like there's no need to expand on it, so it'll be left the way it is. If your own of those people or just someone who enjoys this pairing, this collection should hopefully satiate your thirst for interactions between Lynn and Clyde. I mean, with twenty-six chapters, there's bound to be at least _one_ drabble that you like.

Now, something that I didn't mention in the summary was that the ages of the characters won't always be the same. Sometimes, they'll be older than their canon ages. As of right now, I don't have any planned chapters revolving around them being younger, but that could change as I go along. The point is, I'll make special note of such changes should it be required. Otherwise, just assume that they're as old as they are in canon.

* * *

 **A is for "Autumn"**

 **Rated K**

 _ **Clyde: 14**_

 _ **Lynn: 16**_

* * *

Clyde had little, if _anything_ , good to say about autumn. In fact, he'd go as far to say it was his least favorite season. Autumn seemed to pick up all the negative aspects of the other seasons without retaining their benefits.

As much as springtime could a nightmare because of his pollen allergies, at least he had the colorful flowers, lush grass, and sunny skies to liven up the atmosphere—it was hard to stay grumpy and miserable with such a beautiful sight greeting him every time he woke up and looked out his window. Meanwhile, during autumn, withered, dead plants blotted the landscape like an ugly bruise—the colorful leaves were alright, but nothing could beat the vibrant pink of cherry blossoms. Plus, his allergy woes came back to play as ragweed pollen swept through the chilly air, leaving him with the all-too-familiar savagery of a runny nose, sore throat, and itchy, red eyes.

The blistering cold of winter was rarely fun, but Clyde could always count on snow for two things: an opportunity for play and a chance for school to close. Autumn, on the other hand, was almost just as cold and only gave him the former advantage (yeah, when was the last time school closed because of heavy "leaf fall"?). Plus, snow was _way_ more fun to play with than leaves, anyway (good luck having a "leafball fight").

But as bad as all of that was, at least he didn't have to embrace it alone—at least, not on Tuesdays and Thursdays when walking home after school. Clyde never thought that the best part about joining the chess club would be their after school meeting, namely walking home after they were done. But as he soon found out about a month ago, Tuesdays and Thursdays just so happened to be the days that Lynn had after school practice with her soccer team. Once they unwittingly ran into each other, an unspoken ritual of sorts was formed—they'd wait for the other to leave their respective obligations and then walk home together and just...talk.

And as uneventful as that sounded, that suited Clyde just find because he...sorta had a thing for Lynn. He never thought their friendship would ever lead him him having feelings for her, but he found little point in questioning them—he had more important things to worry about, like how a scrawny geek like him would ever have a chance with one of the school's most popular sports idols.

Presently, as he strolled the sidewalks with Lynn, hearing the crunching of dead leaves under his shoes, he found himself seized by the splendor of her company and the almost therapeutic effects it had on him:

As long as his eyes were on her, they never swelled and itched from the irritation that pollen brought.

With her by her side, the warmth of her aura kept him warm and toasty as the frosty wind tried to sneak through his clothes and nip at his body.

The barren scenery hardly registered to him when the sight of her smiling face graced the scene.

But perhaps, he could be too infatuated for his own good. His enchanted state had left him vulnerable before, leaving him thoroughly embarrassed after Lynn had caught him staring at her. But he was a wiser teenager since those days of...just last week. Now, he was able to keep his mental faculties from keeping dominating him and leaving him unaware of any obvious signs from Lynn that he was staring off into space like some kind of−

"Woah!" Clyde cried as he felt himself launch off to the side, his feet leaving the solid ground.

Before he could give off a panicked scream, he quickly gained bearing on his senses and realized what was happening—time nearly stood still in his state of awareness, giving him enough time to notice that he was about to land in a soft bed of leaves strewn out in the front of someone's lawn...because of a cackling Lynn tackling him.

He landed in the pile, his back hardly feeling the brunt of the force of his landing—though, he was pretty sure that a stray leaf steam had flown into his shirt and was scraping against his skin uncomfortably. But all of that was soon forgotten when he realized where Lynn was; she was sitting on his stomach—her legs draped on either side of his hips—and holding him down by the shoulders. The close proximity immediately made a blush stir up across his cheeks, and he hoped that Lynn's amused expression meant that she was too busy reveling from her mischief to take notice.

"So," she said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, "do I have your attention now?"

Clyde swallowed and nodded. "Uh...y-yeah?"

"Good. So, as I was saying while you were staring off into space, I was wondering if you could come to my game on Friday. Y'know, if you're not too busy."

Clyde almost trembled as he willed himself not to wince. Getting caught up in the moment was bad enough, but he had done so at the expense of his interest in their conversation—he would've immediately told her "yes" if he wasn't so busy accidentally shutting her out.

"Uh, yeah," he said, hoping his reply would stick the landing. "I'm not busy at all."

He sighed with relief when she beamed and said, "Great!"

Before he knew it, Lynn helped him back to his feet and brushed off the leaves that clung to his body. He couldn't help but feel brushes of tingling fire spread through his body every time she touched him, even if the contact was chaste and fleeting.

"You alright?" she said, a look of concern on her face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He shook his head, even if his tailbone felt a little sore. He opted to suck it up and lie instead of giving her grief, though, especially since the pain was manageable and he couldn't imagine her finding him whining about a little boo-boo the least bit attractive.

"Good," she said, another snarky grin spreading. "I don't need that big 'ol brain of yours getting messed up; you still have to help me with my Trigonometry homework, Mr. Math Wizard."

Clyde chuckled. "It's nice to know why you keep me around."

"Well, it's like the old saying goes, 'what're nerds for?'"

Clyde let out another laugh as they continued on their way. As he did, he considered the possibility that, perhaps, if they shared more moments like this, that maybe autumn wouldn't be so unpleasant, after all.


	2. B is for Bet

**B is for "Bet"**

 **Rated K**

* * *

On a Friday afternoon, Lynn was minding her own business in the dining room, ready to chow down on an entire plate of extra spicy buffalo wings from Wild, Wild, Wings. That's right, partner, _extra spicy_ —anything less meant you liked to take the easy route, and Lynn wasn't about to have a reputation of someone who couldn't hack it with some hot wings. Besides, she loved the taste, anyway—don't make the mistake of assuming that the sweat-drenched forehead, red face, and heavy breathing meant that she was anywhere _close_ to having enough.

But besides that, it always filled her with pride (and loads and loads of gas) whenever she scarfed down on her spicy meal and watched as passerby gave her looks of disgust, obviously from putting themselves in her shoes and knowing that they wouldn't be able to handle a paltry two wings without calling it quits, let alone an entire plate.

And then, just as she was about to enjoy her lunch and prove how unmatched her tolerance for spiciness was, Clyde McBride showed up. From what she had cared to hear from him as he greeted her, he was on his way to the kitchen to grab some chips so that he and Lincoln could have something to snack on after they were finished LARPing (pfft, nerds).

Presently, she was about three wings deep into her lunch when he came back and couldn't help himself from taking interest in what she as doing. With the opportunity to show off (and get another repulsed look; those were _always_ fun), she began to wolf down her food like there was no tomorrow. It didn't take long before she felt her tongue begin swell and throat dry up, not to mention the tears watering in her eyes, but she kept it up while she gauged Clyde's reaction.

…

…

Okay, maybe the wings were melting her brain and making her go loopy because there was no way that she was seeing this right. Instead of turning all green and looking like he was on the verge of retching, Clyde was just...staring at her. And not just the ordinary kind of staring, either— it was the kind where it looked like he had something to say and was waiting for the right time to say it.

Whatever. She'd be courteous enough to give him the floor and speak his mind—it wasn't like she gave a hoot about what he thought about her spicy wing eating prowess, anyway.

She cleaned off the last wing and tossed the bones on her plate and looked at Clyde expectantly. "What? You got something to say?"

Her question, perhaps, came off more as an aggressive confrontation—it was a good guess, in her opinion, based on how Clyde kinda shrunk back.

"Oh, n-nothing," he said. "I was just thinking that...well, I usually don't eat my buffalo wings like that."

Lynn's sauce-stained lips formed a proud smirk. Ah, so he was just giving her a compliment on how awesome she was at scarfing down the spiciest wings in Royal Woods. Okay. Cool. She could _totally_ accept that.

He was probably used to the mild variety and had to take his time so he wouldn't upset his widdle tum-tum. Psh, he probably had to drink milk in between wings, too. Ha! Ah, poor kid. Maybe when she was done with her food, she'd show him the ropes and get him to be almost as awesome as _she_ was in the spicy wing eating department. It'd take time, practice, and plenty of tears (on _his_ end, of course), but she was sure she could−

"I like the savor the spice, y'know? It'd be a waste to just eat them all at once."

Thankfully, she _wasn't_ the kind of person who had to drink milk to handle spicy wings. Otherwise, she would've shocked into a spit take and made a mess.

"W-what?!" Lynn spluttered, her eyes as wide as her plate of wings. "You're telling me that _you_ can handle Wild, Wild, Wings' extra spicy wings?!"

It wasn't as if she had the opinion that she was literally the only person who could eat them, but there was a difference between casually having a few nibbles before calling it quits and _savoring_ them, implying that he could stomach them without a problem. And as much as it was wrong to judge a book by its cover, Clyde didn't look like the kind of person who could take as much as three wings without getting sick.

"Yeah," he dared to say without hesitation. "What makes you think that I can't?"

He...he had to be bluffing! Yeah, that was it! He was just trying to show off and impress her by acting like some wing-eating big shot! He had no stats or feats to back up his claim, yet he thought it was smart to show up on _her_ turf and (unwittingly or otherwise) make her fortitude less impressive.

And for that, Clyde was going to pay! As far as Lynn was concerned, it was on! _So_ on! In fact, it was so on, that if the situation was a light switch, there would be no such thing as an "off" setting. Why? Because it'd be too _on_ for such a setting to even exist! Whether Clyde McBride knew it or not, he had crossed a line, and Lynn had no qualms about letting him know that.

"Is that so?" she asked, eyes squinted.

Clyde shrugged. "Again, I don't see why you think that I can't, but yeah."

"If that's the case, then you wanna make a little bet?"

"What kind of bet?"

She got out of her chair and pointed her wings. "As it turns out, I've got six wings left. If you can eat all six of them in a minute or less, _without_ puking or drinking anything, then I'll...I'll..." She paused to mull it over for a few seconds, then snapped her fingers when an idea came to her. "I'll join your little LARPing session. And if you can't hack it, you have to be my karate sparing partner the next time I ask you."

Instead of backing down immediately like she thought, he would Clyde had the nerve to take her up on her bet—why _else_ would he have moseyed over and sat down in her chair without a care in the world?!

But then, her indignation formed into sinister satisfaction. All of a sudden, Clyde's actions made sense. He thought that he could handle half a dozen wings in under a minute without a problem because of the small number. Well, he was about to learn that big things came in small packages. He'd be crying uncle in no time—not even Lana could eat six in a minute, and that was when she _wasn't_ under the pressure of a strict time limit.

Lynn chuckled wickedly. Oh, this was gonna be great. She'd get to knock Clyde down a notch _and_ prove her superiority all at once. That would show him to never to boast at her expense ever again. Now then, where was her stopwatch?

* * *

Twelve seconds.

It took all but twelve seconds for Clyde to show Lynn up. Not only that, but he made sure to punctuate his victory by licking the bones and plate free of any of the hot sauce.

The only silver lining she could find in her defeat was that she had about thirty minutes to prepare herself before she had to parade around in a dorky costume. That gave her plenty of time to make sure that she'd get herself some kind of mask or hood—the _last_ thing she needed was anyone recognizing her.


	3. C is for Chocolate

**A/N:** Okay, I think it's time that I brought attention to something that I believe to be a "burning question" on...I'd say a good chunk of the people who've read this collection of stories so far. I've been asked, more than once, if one of the remaining twenty-four chapters will cover Clyde getting over his crush on Lori.

And to that, I say...no. The reason I'm saying "no" is for a few reasons:

1\. I want the focus to primarily stay on Lynn and Clyde. That doesn't mean that a few other characters won't be making appearances, but that _does_ mean that I don't want them taking up too much of a chapter. I'd feel that Lori would have to be a big part of such a chapter if I were to write it.

2\. I honestly don't think it's necessary. Crushes come and go, so I'd be more inclined to believe that Clyde would just get over it in time. A lot of people assume it's an obsession that warrants a lot of therapy and whatnot, but his crush is never highlighted in a serious enough context for me to buy into that. Therefore, I just don't think writing a story around that belief would be very interesting.

I have a few _more_ reasons, but those are the most important two. So again, I don't plan on writing a chapter where Clyde gets over Lori. That being said, I'm not even close to halfway done at this point, so thing could change if I'm inspired to go in that direction. Just don't count on it happening.

* * *

 **C is for "Chocolate"**

 **Rated K**

* * *

' _Bah, who needs Valentine's Day to give out chocolates?'_ Clyde thought as he merrily strolled to his best friend's house under the warm glow of a bright, sunny day.

On this Sunday afternoon, Clyde cradled two things close to him—packaged chocolates under his arm and the dream of his mission accomplished to his heart. Diamonds may be a girl's best friend, but chocolate was a very close second, _especially_ if the girl in question had "Loud" as their last name. Clyde knew that well enough to spend half his allowance on a fancy assortment of gourmet chocolates yesterday, hoping—against the trepidation building up in his head—that the sacrifice of nearly forty dollars would be worth his time and money.

The slight inkling of doubt didn't come from the idea that the target of his affection, Lori, wouldn't appreciate his gesture—he _knew_ she would go nuts for them. He also knew to set the bar of his expectations low. He was aware that a box of chocolates, no matter how expensive, wasn't going to get her to marry him (that would come _much_ later down the line, once he could afford plane tickets for a romantic Hawaiian getaway).

The only issue he could see were Lori's sisters. He didn't believe it would be unlikely for all nine of them to flank him at all sides as soon as he entered through the front door, grabbing at his coveted confections like a pack of starving hyenas. That's why, he took extra measures to ensure that wouldn't happen. He made it his goal to arrive during the weekend, when he had a feeling that most of the Loud house's residents would be out for the day. That meant, unfortunately, that there was a chance that Lori was gone, too. Still, if that was the case, all he had to do was entrust them to Lincoln so that he could give them to her on his behalf once she came back. It wouldn't beat seeing her reaction for himself, but at least he knew he she'd know that they were from him.

Speaking of Lincoln, he played vital role in the second measure of security. Clyde had called him a few minutes ago and asked that he left their front door unlocked. That sounded way better than knocking on the door and waiting for someone to answer him. Chances were, even if it _wasn't_ one of Lincoln's sisters to open the door for him, his presence would still be given away on account of him knocking in the first place. Slipping through their house as inconspicuously as possible was his only option.

And yet, even though Clyde could see the Loud house coming into view, he couldn't help but sense a sudden feeling of imminent disaster creeping around the corner. Chalking it up as last-minute nerves, he forged ahead, determined not to let those negative thoughts get the better of him.

* * *

Okay. So far, so good. It seemed on this day, fortune favored not just the bold but the _prepared_. Clyde was in the belly of the beast for about a minute now, and disaster hadn't reared its ugly head.

Seated on the couch with his prized clutched to his chest, he stilled his breath as he strained his ears through the silence of the living room. Sure, it would've been easy to just waltz up to Lori's room and present his chocolates to her _now_ , but that would run the risk of accidentally confronting one of the nefarious nine—he had to do at least a _little_ surveillance before he made his move.

And now that he thought about it, where was the harm in a little...quality check? Who was to say that something amiss hadn't happened to the chocolate on the way over? Besides, it would be pretty easy to pull off. The box wasn't shrouded in shrink wrap, meaning that all he had to do was lift the lid off and take a quick gander.

Sparing a cursory glance over his shoulder, Clyde went to work. His fingers clutched onto the lid's sides, ready for "liftoff".

' _Welp, here goes nothi-.'_

And then, that chill of premonition came back, racing up the base of his spine like an icy, sliver of wintry wind. The feeling was amplified when his heart began to race, nearly thumping as loud as the booming pounding of feet down the staircase as it crashed in his ears, stiffening his limbs from abject fright. The source of the disturbance finally came into view, but he could hardly make it out. It was a blur, rushing at him at full speed. Clyde couldn't do so much as shift the box behind his back before it...or rather, _she_ , came to a full stop at his feet.

"What the...?" Clyde said, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him.

If they were, then he couldn't imagine why they wanted him to see...Lynn, sitting on the ground like she was a dog on its haunches. Not only that, she was panting with her tongue flopping out and...and…

' _Oh no.'_

He followed her gaze towards his chest, and put two and two together when he took his chocolates and slowly raised them up over his head. As he predicted, she followed the candy with wide, dazzled eyes.

Clyde was honestly not expecting this. For a Loud sister other than Lori to intercept him? Not really, but it wasn't out of the realm of plausibility. For said intercepting Loud sister to literally act like a dog as soon as the slightest hint of chocolate wafted into the air? Yeah, no way (okay, maybe _Lana_ would). But whether she conveyed her desires as a dog or a human, Clyde could read between the lines, and he'd have to put his foot down and tell Lynn to back off.

"Lynn, no," he said firmly. "These are for Lori. You can't have any."

He half-expected her to start growling at him angrily or make a lunge for the chocolates. Instead, her bottom lip quivered out, her eyes began to shimmer behind unshed tears, and she let out a series of whines and whimpers. As much resolve Clyde had it seeing his mission through, what was he supposed to do with _that_ face looking at him expectantly?

He had heard the horror stories from Lincoln about those "puppy dog eyes"—just one look could shatter the mightiest of wills into dust. And now that he was in its cross-hairs, Clyde could see what his best buddy was talking abou−

' _You gotta be kidding me!'_

As if things couldn't get any worse, Lynn took the cutesy act (though, he still wasn't sure how much of this display was planned) even further by rubbing her head against his leg. That drove him over the edge, plucking at his heartstrings like they were violin strings.

"Okay, okay, fine!" Clyde cried, quickly opening the box and shoving it in front of Lynn, who quickly became spellbound by the exposed treats. "One. You may have... _one_ pie−"

Before he could finish his sentence, Lynn sprung to her feet, quickly swiped at the chocolates, and shoved the contents of her snatch into her mouth. Clyde thought nothing of it as he watched her noisily and messily slurp down the candy.

That is, until he spotted a stray piece of chocolate fall out of Lynn's hands, which she quickly picked up and gobbled down. If her mouth and hands were all dirty and gooey _before_ that chocolate dropped out of her hands, that could only mean…

Clyde looked down and gasped when his suspicions were confirmed. What was once a box full of sixteen chocolates had been reduced to a...meager nine! _Nine_! Nearly half the candy, all gone! He could see Lori forgiving him for letting one piece fall to the wayside, but almost half the box?! Oh, absolutely not! He was gonna give Lynn a piece of his mind, and make her pay up for all the chocolate she practically _stole_!

Jumping off the couch, he marched towards Lynn with his teeth bared and his fingers curled up into fists. He knew Lynn wouldn't find him the least bit intimidating, but he could at least convey how annoyed he was with her greediness.

But suddenly, just as he was about to close in on her, Lynn beat him to the punch and charged at him. Before he knew it, Lynn had him in a tight bear hug that harshly squeezed the air out of his lungs.

"Eeeeeeee! Thanks, Clyde!" she cried, then did something that _really_ stole his breath away.

Without warning, she quickly leaned forward and pressed a sloppy, chocolate-smeared kiss against his cheek, let him go, and ran back upstairs while whopping like a maniac.

Dazed and flushed, Clyde could only muse over the effects that her affection had on him. In one swift motion, Lynn had not only left an impression of her lips against his skin, but on his heart as well. Perhaps, he could give her the rest of them later.

All he had to do was protect them against the evil eight.


	4. D is for Debt

**D is for "Debt"**

 **Rated T**

 _ **Clyde: 22**_

 _ **Lynn: 24**_

* * *

Okay, no. Just… _no_. C'mon now, really? _Uggggggggh_.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, about this situation was fair at all. Not. One. Bit. Dammit, was _one_ stress-free evening in his apartment, lying on the couch in front of the television just too much to ask? Apparently, Lynn Loud Jr. thought so. Or hell, maybe she _didn't_ think so _._ Otherwise, why else would she be approaching her boyfriend like…like _this_?

On any ordinary day, "this" was not only a welcome sight for sore eyes, but a pleasantry that Clyde went out of his way to show his appreciation for every chance he got. Unfortunately, though, today wasn't an ordinary day. Waking up at seven in the morning to drive to his community college classes was never fun, but that didn't mean that he failed to understand that attending class was important. That's why, when he was treated to his car failing to start properly—meaning that he had to get someone to jump start it before he could be on his way—he was a little more than pissed off.

Add a stern chewing out on his tardiness from his ever-cranky political science professor (Prof. Birch? Yeah, try switching out that "r" with a "t"), the realization that he forgot his statistics homework at home, AND his car dying on him _again_ on his way back home to the mix and you had a Clyde McBride that just wanted to unwind with no intention of doing anything by lounging around on his ass before heading off to sleep.

So alas, a few hours after he finally got himself settled on the couch, Lynn's alluring ensemble of bedroom eyes, coquettish grin, untied locks, and cocked hip (a.k.a. "this") was a presentation that only made Clyde groan with frustration as she sauntered into the living room and blocked his view of the TV. Well, okay, _that_ didn't make him groan, but the _motivation_ behind her actions sure did.

He had always chalked Lynn up as a little squirrely and naughty (an adorable combination, if anyone asked him), but downright _evil_? Hell no. But that was what he was forced to believe when she laid out her intentions. Apparently, she "just so happened" to waltz up to him in nothing more than one of his T-shirts when she asked him, in no uncertain words, to help him look for her missing lucky tennis ball.

Double _u_ _gggggggg_ _h_.

No wonder Lynn was acting all seductive-like to sway him into agreement, despite how transparent her attempt at nonchalance was (try easing back on the perked-up eyebrows and pouty lip, next time, honey)—she knew how much of a klutz she was when it came to misplacing her belongings. Clyde loved the girl to death, but he was certain that she'd lose her head if it wasn't attached to her shoulders. The other day, when she had lost her car keys, it took hours combing around the place until they found them...inside the _oven_ (he still couldn't wrap his head around how that happened).

So, not only was Lynn trying to rope him into doing something that would probably last until midnight, but she thought he'd fall prey to her bait without much resistance. Honestly, he had every right to feel insulted.

…

Except for the fact that he knew he couldn't say no to that face, a fact that he had accepted long ago. She knew it, too, which is why she smirked with triumph when he let out a heavy sigh before he agreed to help her.

* * *

Upon entering their bedroom—the first place that Lynn suggested that they check—Clyde was greeted to a sight that made him question...well, just about _everything_ that led up to this.

' _Ummm...what?'_ he thought to himself, too engrossed by hisdisbelief to hear the door close and lock behind him.

Soooo...was Lynn in need of a cataracts surgery or something? That was probably the best explanation for why her lucky tennis ball, in all its worn-out, color-faded glory, was resting on top of her pillow. He didn't even imagine that this could be a practical joke because...what was the joke? Or at least, what was the _worthwhile_ joke? Puling the wool over his eyes for a punchline that basically came down to "Gotcha!" didn't seem like Lynn's style. So then, what on Earth could she be trying to−

"Weeeeeell, would you look at that? You found it for me~."

The door shutting did nothing to wake Clyde up from this thoughtful stupor, but that hilt in Lynn's voice did the trick. Before he could turn around and see if her body language aligned with that sultry timbre, a familiar pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his waist. Then, silky lips grazed the lobe of his ear, eliciting a shuddering sigh as his nerves quivered with excitement.

"And you went through all that trouble, despite the shitty day you had? Why, Clyde, I don't know how I could ever show you my appreciation." Her once idle fingers slipped under his shirt to trace tiny circles across his abdomen as he tongue snuck out to give his ear a fleeting lick. "I guess that means I'm in your debt. Oh, whatever will you have me do to repay you~?"

Clyde grinned, finally understanding what was going on and loving every second of it. He didn't know how on Earth he could ever turn down a night of passion with Lynn in favor of sulking in front of the TV like a bum, but he was glad for the coaxing.

He swiveled around in her grasp to wrap his arms around _her_ waist, hoist her up, and lock their lips together in a heated kiss. His spine racked with a shudder when her toned legs locked around his waist and her hands grabbed handfuls of his shirt in order to pull him in even closer. Despite the onslaught on sensations, Clyde was determined to keep his wits about him. After all, Lynn had a debt to own up to, and he was gonna make sure she paid up.

With interest.


	5. E is for Envy

**E is for "Envy"**

 **Rated T**

 _ **Clyde: 15**_

 _ **Lynn: 17**_

* * *

Anyone taking a cursory glance at Lynn's present demeanor would've found nothing amiss. To the untrained eye, all that would've been seen was a disinterested girl, lying in her bed as she flipped through the pages of her sports almanac with listlessness. And as far as Lynn was concerned, that was _exactly_ the way she wanted it—the last thing she needed was anyone judging her exposed emotions if she didn't even think that _she_ could make the right call on them (at least not without cringing at what immediately came to her as "obvious").

Had she decided to wear her heart on her sleeve, she'd be beating the shit out of her Wavemaster right now, flinging wild punches and kicks at it until her moody anger was spent and she could breeze through the rest of the day on relatively high spirits. She thought about dropping her façade of indifference and doing just that at least three times in the past hour before she was reminded of what would happen if she did.

Lynn flipped through another page and sighed angrily through her nose, thinking about the person that was responsible for all of this—at the thought of _his_ cheery grin, a sharp pang stuck through her heart, and she muttered angry gibberish under her breath. This was all stupid Clyde's fault. _He_ was the reason she couldn't chill out in the comfort of her own room. _He_ was the reason that she was stuck inside on a Wednesday night with nothing else to do but try and pretend that everything was okay.

For all the wonders of imagination that all those educational children's shows taught her as a kid, they sure as hell couldn't make her imagine Clyde has anything but the backstabbing jerk that he was. Hey, if it looked like a duck, walked like a duck, and quacked like a duck, it was a rotten, no-good, son of a...duck.

But yeah, Clyde McBride could seriously go to Hell.

…

Okay, fine, that might've been a little too harsh (just a _little_ , mind you). Still, what kind of so-called "friend" flaked on their friends like he had done? No, scratch that, _had_ been doing for days now?

The one that had the hots for someone and forgot all about her, apparently.

Last week's Saturday was supposed to be just the two of them at the batting cage that afternoon. She had set up the time and date days ago, making sure that Clyde wasn't inconvenienced (y'know, like a _good_ friend would do). Not only did Clyde bail on those plans at the last second, he didn't even have the luxury of telling her what that oh-so "important stuff" was. Yeah, apparently his nondescript plans held _soooooo_ much more importance over the time that she was gonna pour into his practice so that he wouldn't strike out when he applied for their school's softball team tryouts. Pssh, jerk.

On Monday morning, _he_ was the one that did the inviting. At the beginning of the school year, they found out that they had subjects in school that they weren't so hot at but the other could knock out of the park with their eyes closed. So, like most Mondays, they'd meet up after school at his house and help each other out with studying. Heck, Lynn was gonna go so far as to invite him to see a movie on Sunday (as a token of her appreciation, of course). But hark! Look up in the sky! Was it a bird?! A plane, perhaps?! Nnnnnnope! It was another last minute bailing out from Clyde as he called off the study session because of an "important guest" that was coming over, and he couldn't make the time for her because of that. Of course, Lisa was around to get her through the terrors of Calculus (something that Clyde was at least kind enough to recommend). Still, it...just didn't feel right if _Clyde_ wasn't the one leading her by the hand.

Oh, but today? _Today_ was the straw that broke the camel's back worse than one of her camel clutches ever could. Earlier during lunch, she approached him with an offer that he shouldn't have been able to refuse. She was never into all those geeky comics of his, but she was certain that he'd accept her proposal for them to get done with their homework early so that he could spend the rest of the day easing her into the world of Ace Savvy, one issue at a time. Hey, as long as she and Clyde were doing _something_ together, that would suit her just fine.

And for the third time within a week, she struck out—the situation would've been far less painful if the bases were loaded and it was the bottom of the ninth. What made the rejection worse wasn't the words he had said but the actions had accompanied them. Once again, he turned her away in favor of "other ideas".

And that's when she saw..."it"—the sneaky sidelong glance he made to his left, along with the sly, little grin that she assumed he thought was inconspicuous. What made it worse was when those same gestures were returned in the same fashion from that, bespectacled. red-haired girl he had in his sights to begin with. It took everything she had and much, _much_ more to lay her frustration to rest and excuse herself before her bubbling cauldron of emotions could boil over and get the better of her. But that didn't make the realization of everything that was going on any better now that she was alone to process the intimacy of that silent exchange.

Out of nowhere, Clyde managed to get himself a girlfriend. And for some reason, that bothered her more than all the times he ditched her lately. But then again, maybe it was a lie to chalk it up to "some reason" when, again, what kept coming back to her as "obvious" made her squirm.

But how could anyone blame her when that notion, against her better judgment, had the audacity to suggest that she was... _jealous_. Her? Jealous of what's-her-face? What did _she_ have to be jealous of? The poor girl looked like she couldn't even have a brisk jog from her front door to her mailbox without keeling over.

Her looks? Lynn wasn't one to make a fuss over physical appearance, but she didn't think she was all that and a bag of chips. At least, not compared to her. Last she checked, she was only seven percent body fat. Meanwhile, that girl probably had love handles for her love handles. Did she even have so much as a visible four-pack? Hmph, probably not.

Lynn flipped through another page. So, what did Clyde see in her anyway? Must've been something pretty damn impressive for him to forget that she existed. It couldn't have been how much she knew him as a person. Last time she checked, she had her beat in that department.

Another page. But even then, that didn't give him the right to just...just leave her. She didn't have to be jealous to feel hurt that all the time they spent together meant nothing as soon as he started drooling at the mouth at other girls. _Pervert_.

Another page. They were probably making out right now. What _else_ could that silent exchange mean? Guess playing tonsil hockey with some jennie-come-lately was better than another rousing game of street hockey that had never failed to produce some of the most fun that they ever had together.

Another page. Fine! They could have each other for all she cared! If all it took was a pair of pale legs and a short skirt to make him primarily think with his second head, then so be it! Jealous?! She was better than that, and she wasn't gonna let anyone else tell her otherwise!

Anoth- _riiiiip_! The sound of tearing paper yanked her out of her defiant stupor, and she instantly became acquainted with the cost of her suppressed anger. The almanac, much like her friendship with Clyde, was torn down the center. Her shaky hands and boiling blood stilled under the sudden rush of sadness, and she limply let the ruined magazine fall out her grasp. Her head drooped down, her bangs casting a shadow over her eyes.

She...s-she wasn't jealous. She _wasn't_.

But that didn't mean that she _didn't_ want to cry in her pillow right about now.


	6. F is for Flippee

**F is for "Flippee"**

 **Rated K**

* * *

There were only a few things one could do when their hometown was subjected to a harsh, smoldering heat wave—constantly complain about the weather in a vain attempt to ward off the seemingly undying warmth, grin and bear until the worst was finally over, or find some way to cool off. Seeing as how Clyde McBride was smart enough to know that the former wouldn't work and that he wasn't the best at adjusting to horrible conditions (he nearly threw a fit when his school swapped out chocolate milk for strawberry), he had no choice but to wing it with the third option.

Presently, he was trudging through the streets of Royal Woods, the Sun nearly baking him to a crisp. He had been walking for nearly ten minutes and by now, he was the embodiment of pure exhaustion—rivulets of sweat coated his skin, his tongue flopped out of his panting mouth, his face was splotched with a fiery shade of crimson, and his shaky movements pantomimed a person with legs full of jello.

He wouldn't be anywhere but home if the air conditioning wasn't broken, and a plastic, electronic fan could only do so much. Thus, he made it his mission to embrace the elements in the pursuit of the one thing he could think of that could both keep him cool and tantalize his taste buds with bursts of ice-cold, fruity flavor—a Flippee from Flip's Food & Fuel.

Of course, he was aware that a Flippee could only keep the heat at bay for so long, which was why he was going to buy the largest size available. Plus, if he only drank it every so often, he was sure he could make it last for at least two days as long as he kept it cold in his freezer.

' _If I don't melt into a puddle before I get to Flip's, that is,'_ Clyde thought as he staggered drunkenly along the last crosswalk before his destination.

* * *

The first thing that Clyde had to regard, besides the refreshing flow of refrigerated air that soothed his flesh as soon as he stepped inside Flip's, was the irony within his surroundings. Part of the reason why this trip was necessary wasn't just because his AC was busted, but because his dads, some of the most caring and charitable people he knew, didn't want to splurge the money necessary to have it fixed (at least, not _this_ soon). Meanwhile, Flip was one of the most negligent, close-fisted people to walk the Earth yet it seemed like even _he_ wasn't miserly enough to keep his pennies pinched when it came to keeping his mini-market ventilated.

Clyde walked past the store owner himself, who was manning the cash register while he leaned against the counter. He couldn't help but sneer when, much like his reception for the past few months, he _wasn't_ greeted with a snide remark or sarcastic barb, like most of his customers usually got—it took him about a few weeks after the sudden attitude adjustment to understand that he and Lincoln threatening him with blackmail must've coaxed him to mind his tongue around them.

' _Heh. Serves him right.'_

He weaved past idle customers (nearly slipping on an unmarked puddle in the candy aisle) for a few seconds until, at long last, he made it to the Flippee machine. But instead of hastily filling up an extra large cup with as much slushy fruitiness as he could with just _one_ flavor (the thought that dominated his mind while he was panting and sweating out in the unforgiving humidity), he gazed at the various flavor nozzles as if he was a meticulous jeweler mindfully looking over his craftsmanship. Now that he was somewhat relieved (with only the icky cold sensation of his sweat-dampened clothes against his skin making him squirm a bit), there was no longer an urge to hurry up in order to ward off the effects of the heat as fast as he could.

"Now, let's see here..." Clyde mumbled as he tapped his chin with his pointer finger and pursed his lips. "I could make half my Flippee full of _Lightning_ _Lemonade, buuuuuuut_ that would overpower the tangy flavor of _Crushing_ _Cherry_. Then again, _Crushing_ _Cherry_ could be a decent base, but everyone knows that it doesn't mix very well with _Mango_ _Tango,_ and _that_ flavor doesn't come anywhere close to being good without a heavy dose of _Lightning_ _Lemonade._ Hmmmm- _oof_!"

His pondering was interrupted from a sudden bump against his hip that made him stagger over, nearly tripping him up as effectively as an unattended candy aisle puddle. He turned to look at _what_ caused it and quickly discovered that it was a "who". There, smirking with her hip jutted towards him, was none other than Lynn. From that alone, he could put two and two together—it seemed like Polly Pain wasn't the only one who liked to "booty block" unsuspecting victims.

"Uh, hey, Lynn," Clyde said, still a little perturbed from the ordeal.

Lynn's smirk unexpectedly drooped into a thin line. "Took you long enough to notice me. I've been trying to get your attention since you showed up."

Clyde's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Uh, yeah. I tried tapping you on the shoulder, but you just kept murmuring to yourself. If I wasn't used to Lucy doing it all the time, I'd have been super freaked out."

Huh. Now that Lynn mentioned it, Clyde supposed he _did_ feel a slight touch against his shoulder. In his deep musing about Flippees, he must've disregarded it.

"So," Lynn began to ask with a smile " I see you're trying to beat the heat with a Flippee, huh?"

"Yep," Clyde said. "I take it that's why _you're_ here, too?"

Lynn shook her head and jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the hot bar. "Actually, I'm here for some chili dogs. I'm hanging out with Margo, and her parents decided to take us here so we could grab some. That's when I saw you come in and...well, you know the rest."

From there, Lynn turned to the Flippee machine and squinted at it pensively while she rubbed her chin with one hand.

"But now that you mention it, a Flippee _does_ sound like a good idea." Just then, a radiant smile birthed on her face as she snapped her fingers. "In fact, it's _such_ a good idea that I know exactly how you should go about making it."

Lynn's enthusiasm, along with the suggestion that she knew a thing or two about making good Flippees, piqued Clyde's interest. "Oh?"

"Yeah. See, you should mix _Mango Tango_ with about a third of _Lightning_ _Lemonade_. Then, to top it off, only add a teeny bit of _Crushing_ _Cherry_ and _Bombin_ ' _Banana_."

Clyde gasped and just about keeled over on the spot. Why, practically everything about her proposal completely went against all the recipe-making and hours of serious contemplation that he and Lincoln had accumulated over the years! For instance, what was she thinking with the idea of mixing four flavors at once?! Any Flippee enthusiast worth their weight in salt knew that the maximum of _three_ flavors was the optimal number—no more, no less!

...

But then again, it wasn't like _he_ had to buy something that he didn't like. All he had to do was sample a bit of the concoction and if he didn't like it, he could hand it off to Lynn while he made his own Flippee for himself.

And beyond that, there was something about her self-assured smile that told him that she wasn't gonna steer him wrong.

Clyde looked back at the Flippee machine, sighed, and reached for an extra large cup. _'Welp, might as well.'_

* * *

Oh, Clyde "might as well", alright—if "might as well" was coupled with "thanking Lynn like he had never thanked any sentient being before"! What was once dubiousness quickly transformed into intoxicated delight as soon as the slushie slurped up his straw and tinged the tip of his tongue. The concoction, which Lynn dubbed "Berried Treasure", was nothing like he had ever tasted—the brash tropical taste was compounded perfectly by the zesty tang of _Lightning_ _Lemonade_ while the _Bombin_ ' _Banana_ tempered the explosive fruity surge from being too overwhelming. Overall, it was _flawless_.

Finally, Clyde withdrew from his straw and looked at Lynn, an almost manic grin on his face. "This is...amazing!"

Lynn chuckled and nudge his shoulder with her fist. "Told ya. Believe me, Clyde, I _know_ my Flippees."

Just as he was about to go for another slurp, another straw suddenly inserted through the cup lid's opening. Clyde, knowing full well what was about to come, was quick to object to having even a morsel of his Flippee taken from him and cried, "Hey!"

"What?" Lynn asked smugly. "You don't think I deserve a _little_ for unlocking the secrets of the ultimate Flippee combination to you?"

Immediately, Clyde shrunk back in shame. There was no good excuse in the world for acting selfishly towards a friend who was only trying to help him out.

"Sorry," he said, his head hung. "You can have s-"

The sound of slurping forced him to stop and realize that Lynn had taken the liberty of having herself some of his Flippee, anyway. Still, he couldn't help but take it in stride with a smile. After all, treasure was meant to be shared among friends—even if it was _berried._


	7. G is for Gift

**A/N:** I'd like to apologize in advance for this chapter's quality. If you guys are checking my profile page for updates on my stories, you'll know that my laptop...has seen better days. That means that I can't manage long chapters right now, which means no "Out of the Way" updates for right now. What this means going forward is that I'll have to type out all my short stories and chapters on my smartphone, which isn't something I'm really used to. Just bear with me until everything gets fixed. I don't like it any less or more than you guys probably do.

 **G is for "Gift"**

 **Rated K**

 _ **Clyde: 12**_

 _ **Lynn: 13 ( for now, at least ;-) )**_

* * *

"Man, just where _is_ that sewing kit?"

It was the first time Clyde McBride had said anything out in the open in, give or take, an hour. The question was more biting than the burn of the carpet that dug into the flesh of his shins and knees as he crawled around the living room, looking under furniture in search the prize of his excursion.

He supposed that's what he deserved for deciding to go with cargo shorts today.

But seriously, he could've sworn that he last saw it on the dining room table sometime yesterday, right next to the bowl of fake fruits. He was quick to blame Nepurrtiti and her tendency to knock off things from high places, but that would've meant that he could've easily found the sewing kit on the floor.

Presently, his raid underneath the couch was going off _..._ _ _with__ a hitch. With the aid of the flashlight setting on his smartphone, the wide expanse of the couch's underbelly and its unremarkable litter were revealed. Unfortunately, no sewing kits were found among the bottle caps, paperclips, crumbs, and half-eaten candy (so __that's__ where his apple-flavored lollipop from last Halloween ended up!). A frustrated groan came out of Clyde's mouth, followed by a hiss of pain from the throbbing ache that resided in his neck from all the craning and twisting it had done to grant his vision access to all the nooks and crannies he had come across in the last sixty minutes.

The part of him that suffered the most, however, was his conscience. Honestly, it shamed him that he had as little as half a mind to throw in the towel and just give up on his search—it didn't help that he was going through all of this because of a promise he had made to Lincoln shortly before he had started looking. Still, none of that meant that he couldn't take a little break.

Just a little one, of course.

It took him longer than it normally should've to heave himself off the floor before collapsing on the couch in the boneless heap. Even still, it wasn't like his overworked muscles and sore limbs were doing him any favors.

' _At least my homework's done. I guess I can continue searching after I eat dinner in about an hour.'_

Though Clyde was partially focused on filling his belly with delicious food, he was more pressed to fill his _head_ with thoughts to spur him on and to not give in. It wasn't just enough to concentrate on the likelihood of a happy ending if he found his sewing kit. What mattered the most was reminding himself how he'd be letting his friends down if he called it quits.

He had to think back to his phone conversation to Lincoln in order to do that—it would hopefully spark his resolution to do whatever he could to make Lynn Loud smile.

* * *

" _Sorry, Clyde, I can't hang out today."_

 _If not for the fact that he using one of his hands to hold the phone to his ear while he sat at his desk, Clyde would've used both hands to facepalm._

 _The bad news couldn't have come at a worse time._

 _Clyde had just knocked off a five-page report on the Gettysburg Address a week before it was due and brushed up on about two hours worth of thermodynamics studying for his test in two days. Hearing that his best buddy couldn't engage him in any fun (probably due to him being swamped with his own workload of schoolwork) was the last thing he wanted to hear with so much free time on his hands._

"Really?" he asked. "Are you sure you can't reconsider?"

"' _Fraid not. We're all busy planning Lynn's surprise birthday party tomorrow."_

 _Clyde sat in silence for a second, waiting for his brain to process the information. Then, when he recalled what the date was for tomorrow, everything made sense. Clyde may not have been an official member of the Loud family, but he was almost always invited to any of the Louds' social gatherings whenever possible, birthdays included. Even so, it was almost easy to forget that Lynn's birthday was on April 15th._

"Right," Clyde said. "I almost forgot. Tell her I wish her a happy birthday."

" _Thanks, but you could always just tell her yourself. You're invited to her party."_

Clyde sighed. "I wish I could, but I can't. Tomorrow, my dads and I are going over to my Nana's house for a visit. I can't just bail on her."

" _Yeah, I understand. I'll make sure to tell her."_

"Thanks."

 _Clyde slumped in his chair and frowned. This was just perfect—missing out on his friend today and a party tomorrow wasn't how he imagined he'd be spending his time. Despite his efforts to keep his angst bottled up as best as he could, the disappointment in his voice must've been too obvious for Lincoln to ignore._

" _Aw, c'mon, Clyde. Don't you start feeling down, too. It's just one party. We can always hang out after you come back from your grandmother's house."_

"Yeah, I guess you're...hold on." Clyde leaned back in his chair, his face fixed in pensive concentration. "What do you mean by that?"

" _Mean by what?"_

"When you told me not to start feeling down. You said it as if someone else is feeling the blues."

" _Yeah. Believe it or not, it's Lynn."_

 _Clyde's lips formed a frown from disbelief. He didn't take Lincoln as much of a joker (at least not on Luan's level), meaning that he should've taken his word at face value, but it still struck him as odd that out of anyone he knew, Lynn would be the one to have any reason to feel sad._

"Lynn?" he asked. "Why would the soon-to-be birthday girl be down in the dumps before her fourteenth birthday?"

" _Her first softball mitt got torn up," Lincoln began to explain. "She's had it ever since she was six, and it was pretty much on its last leg. Yesterday, we found Charles digging into her closet with the ruined mitt in his mouth. We salvaged what we could, but the damage was pretty much done. She's been a little bummed out about it ever since."_

 _By the end of the story, Clyde was no longer wrapped up in incredulous wonder. Instead, all he could do was wonder exactly how Lynn must've been feeling—at least, far beyond Lincoln's general explanation. She wore her love for sports on her sleeve, so having a sporty memento of sorts get ruined must've dealt her a heavy blow._

 _And before her birthday, of all days._

 _Now, Clyde wished he was able able to show up to the party even more. He didn't have any idea what he could do to cheer Lynn up on her big day, but he honestly didn't care—he'd wing it if could have that chance. Still, a direct resolution was the option deserved the most. But honestly, what could he do? It wasn't like he could take the mitt and just patch it up before...before…_

…

…

 _A smile touched on Clyde's face._ "Hey, Lincoln?"

" _Yeah?"_

"Where's that mitt? Does Lynn still have it?"

" _Nah. We tossed it out. Why do you ask?"_

 _Clyde felt a breadth of panic beating in his chest with the flurry of beaten bongo drums until the sensation petered out when he remembered that today was Tuesday and all of the trash around the neighborhood got picked up on Sundays and Thursdays. That still meant that he had a chance to make this work._

"Uh, so you still have the trash bag with the mitt in it lying around?" he asked.

" _Yep."_

 _Clyde's grin widened, and his jovial enthusiasm made him jump to his feet and pace around his room like an anxious man waiting for his wife to deliver their firstborn child._

"Okay, so I just need you rummage through that trash and find the mitt. I can swing by your place later to pick it up."

" _May I ask why?"_

"Let's just say that I've got the perfect gift for Lynn. If everything falls into place, I can have it ready for you by tomorrow. Talk to you later, buddy."

 _With that, Clyde hung up, tossed his phone on his bed, and made a beeline to the kitchen. Last he checked, his dad's sewing kit was there and he was gonna need it for the task ahead._

* * *

That had most certainly done the trick, faster than Clyde would've imagined.

He thought that he would've been resolved to keep searching after just a few minutes of rest, but that wasn't the case—he was back at it almost immediately, going back to the kitchen to recheck where he had searched before.

Thinking about it conjured up another possibility for success in case he couldn't pull through—although he thought that he was adequate when it came to a needle and thread, he knew that Leni would be able to get the job down way better than him. All he'd have to do is call up Lincoln again and ask him if he could get Leni to complete that task in his stead.

…

And yet...he really didn't want that to happen.

It may have been a little selfish of him want to cheer Lynn up on his own terms, but it didn't seem unfair to want to contribute to her happiness with his own gift when Leni probably had something else in mind, anyway.

Besides, he thought with a smirk, he still had _plenty_ of time on his hands. How hard could this be?

* * *

 _ **ONE DAY LATER...**_

* * *

There was only so much that a basketball-shaped cake, sports-themed decor, and a house full of familiar faces—family and friends alike—could do to lift Lynn's spirits. She had an inkling that she'd be in for a surprise party today, so coming back home from soccer practice to be greeted with a house themed in her honor was a pleasant sight but one that didn't completely bowl her over with elation.

And honestly, that was where her giddiness had peaked.

It shamed her—much more than startled her—to feel as...numb as she had through all the singing, laughing, eating, and playing, even if it wasn't that _much_. There was no doubt that everyone had done their part to make her fourteenth birthday as great as any birthday she had had before, but it was clear that her dang itch from two days ago had yet to be scratched.

All day long, she tried telling herself that it was a dumb 'ol mitt, and that if she was going to acknowledge that she was fourteen now, that it meant that she couldn't sulk about her loss like she was a three-year-old. She could've given herself credit for not wearing her nagging dejection on her sleeve, but that would've just felt like condescending consolation for emotions that she shouldn't have.

Presently, the lively atmosphere winded down to a crawl, though the tense excitement in the air was palpable enough for Lynn to be affected—she supposed that it being time for opening presents would do that. She was at at the head of the table, a line of present-holding party guests and family members spilling out the living room. Lincoln was the first to approach her, and Lynn was privy to how the smile on his face made her insides bubble with anticipation.

Or _maaaaaybe_ that was just gas—seven jalapeño/meatball subs and five slices of birthday cake were bound to have an effect on her.

Whatever it was, she almost felt her body move on its own as she reached out to grab that medium-sized, blue gift-wrapped box from Lincoln's hands.

"I've got a present for you that you'll get from me a little later," Lincoln said. "This one's from Clyde. Hope you like it."

With Lynn's head being preoccupied with wonder about the box's contents, the words nearly went out the other ear—had it not been for the mention of Clyde, they probably would've. She had long since noted that Clyde hadn't shown up to her party, yet he was still able to come around with a gift of his own.

The cheerful grin on Lynn's face only grew wider—she'd definitely have to thank Clyde the next time she saw him.

With almost as much energy as Lori usually gave into tearing open her presents, Lynn shredded the paper away with a few, frantic swipes of her fingernails, littering the carpet in streams of blue ribbons. The lid came next—she quickly discarded it over her shoulder, almost in the manner that a frisbee was tossed. She peered inside, only to find...a piece of paper?

Lynn's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, even as she was coming to terms with what she was looking at. Indeed, it was a piece of lined paper with words scribbled on it, leaning against an object that was shrouded in newspaper. The wrapped object held most of her interest, though the paper seemed to be important enough to be read first.

Perhaps, Lynn thought as she picked it up and brought it close to her face, that was the intention. But soon, that "perhaps" turned into a "definitely" as she breezes through the note:

 _"Happy birthday, Lynn. Sorry I couldn't show up for your big day. Still, it wouldn't feel right to not get you anything. That's when a little white-haired birdie told me about the bad mood you've been in lately. I hope this cheers you up. If it does, it was totally worth all the pricks in my fingers and money I had to spend on bandages."_

She instinctively looked up at the "little white-haired birdie", who was oh-so conveniently a losing eye contact by looking away—there was a chance (and a great one, at that) that his sneaky smile meant that he was doing it on purpose. With a chuckle and a roll of her eyes, she put the letter off to the side and reached for the _actual_ present.

It was high time she got to bottom what her nerdy brother and his nerdy best friend were in on.

* * *

There was hardly anything to write home about on the three-hour drives to his grandmother's house—leave it to Lincoln to turn that trend of monotony around with a text message when he was more than three quarters of the way there:

 _"i don't kno about u but I think lynn might have liked your gift"_

The picture that the text was attached to, however, was what inspired his big, toothy grin to sprout across his face. In the center of it, pressing a small softball mitt against her cheek while smiling from ear-to-ear, was Lynn. It seemed that she didn't mind his somewhat sloppy stitching job, given how she appeared to be too thrilled to mind how loose strings jutted out from the material like weeds.

It also seemed like he was in for a pretty big bear hug the next time he saw her. The thought of that, for reasons Clyde couldn't quite put his finger on, made the rest of the trip just a little less boring.


End file.
